Uncontrollable
by nikkithedead
Summary: After becoming a werewolf, Jackson has trouble controlling himself.


**Uncontrollable**

"I never met another man  
who loved me so much at first sight  
he had to hurt me to do it."  
—Daphne Gottlieb_, Why Things Burn_

* * *

When Jackson begins training with the pack, he's slow to managing his new abilities. Slow to managing himself. He's easily the worst fighter of all of them, has no precision, no discipline. Sparring rounds tend to end with him on his back, bones broken, spitting out blood from between his teeth. He's quick to anger, quick to lose control and shift without meaning to.

Derek will say this about him, he's nothing if not persistent. Despite his short comings, he shows up to training every day and works harder than any of the others to try and learn to control himself, and to fight. Unfortunately, his determination seems to do him little good.

After training, Jackson stays back after the others have left, and asks for more. "I'm not done, I want to try again," Jackson presses. There's still blood on his lips from his last fight with Erica, and his wife beater is torn.

Derek shakes his head, and takes a seat on a nearby crate. "You need time to rest, Jackson. Go home, heal. Come back tomorrow—"

"I don't _want _to come back tomorrow," Jackson interrupts, his jaw tight. The way he spits out his words makes it sound as if they're each a new sentence. Derek gets tired just listening to him. "I want to go again _now._"

Derek sighs, and stands back up. "How about this," He says, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you can last ten seconds against me, we'll train for another two hours? Alright?"

Jackson nods. He licks his lips, wiping away the last drops of blood clinging to them. He gets into a fighting stance, arms held high and legs spread apart, crouching slightly.

Wanting to give up already, Derek walks up behind him, and puts his arms around him. He can feel Jackson tense up immediately. "You're making yourself too open," He says, pressing gently on Jackson's arms to guide them close to his chest. "Hold them like that, guard yourself." He nudges Jackson's foot with his own. "Your legs are too far apart, yeah keep them like that, good—"

Derek backs away, and surveys Jackson's new pose. It'll have to do. He stands across the room, and gestures to Jackson. "Alright, come at me,"

Jackson charges at him, fast and straight. If the kid had a clue about what he was doing, he would realize that his speed was his greatest strength. He's naturally fast, naturally quick on his feet. Only Erica is faster than him, and if he trains hard he could easily turn that into a huge advantage over even Derek and Boyd. But Jackson is used to being the tough guy, the bully. He still wants to use strength, still wants to bulldoze his opponents to the ground.

Derek expects Jackson to aim straight for his chest, like he's done every other time they've sparred. To his surprise, Jackson drops down at the last moment, going for his legs. He crashes into him, sending Derek toppling over. Derek's impressed.

He grabs Jackson on the way down, and is on top of him by the time they hit the floor, claws on his neck the way every one of Jackson's fights ends. Jackson growls and snaps at him, struggling under his hand. "Five seconds," Derek says.

Jackson stops fighting, and goes limp. Derek sees defeat in his bright blue eyes.

The blue fades, and tears well up instead. Jackson shoves Derek off and scrambles to his knees. Slumped over, he puts his face in his hands.

Brushing himself off as he stands up, Derek stares at Jackson's shaking figure and feels a bit ill. He hates it when Jackson cries. This is only the second time he's seen it, and it's already too much for him. The first time had been bad enough—there he was, supposed to be _killing _him, and the idiot starts to cry.

It's worse now. Jackson takes his hands away from his face, revealing trembling red lips and eyelashes wet with tears. And Derek can't help but wonder what the hell it says about him, that all he can think about is how _good _Jackson looks like that.

Derek really, really would like him to stop crying.

He crouches down in front of him, and gives Jackson a stern look. "Stop crying," He says. Jackson does not stop crying. "Come on, you did alright. Five seconds isn't bad..."

"I don't want your _pity,_" Jackson spits.

Derek raises his eyebrows. "Then try and be less _pitiful,_" Jackson glares at him with burning blue eyes. Derek reaches out, and brushes his thumb over Jackson's cheek. He sees surprise flicker in his eyes. "You're going to be okay, Jackson," He says softly. "I know it doesn't seem like it now, but you will be."

Jackson's lower lip trembles, and Derek can't stop thinking about pressing his own lips against him, sucking that trembling lower lip between his teeth. "What if I'm _not?_" Jackson asks.

"You _will _be," Derek repeats. "You'll keep training, you'll learn to control your abilities. You'll get better."

"And what if it doesn't? What if I just stay like this forever?"

"Then feel free to continue crying,"

Derek had been looking forward to going home. He'd been going to take a hot shower, drink some tea and read one of the many books he'd bought in the last week but had yet to get around to touching. But instead of doing that, he stays in the basement and talks to Jackson for at least another hour.

They sit leaning back against one of the concrete walls, and Derek does his best to listen as Jackson tells him all about the nightmares he's been having, about everything he'd done as the kanima. Jackson talks about how afraid he is that he's going to turn back into one, if he can't make it work as a wolf. Derek listens, and nods, and cannot stop staring at Jackson's mouth.

"You know, the reason I _wanted _the bite in the first place was so I could be the best again," Jackson was saying. "And now I have it, and I'm still not good enough,"

Derek shakes his head. "Your problem is you're too hard on yourself. You're expecting too much too quickly, and when you can't do what you think you should be able too you get frustrated and break down. You need to relax,"

"_I can't!_"

Derek rolls his eyes. He would have better luck talking to one of the walls, trying to convince it to be less rigid. Jackson is too stubborn, too absorbed in himself to hear anything Derek has to say.

"I... didn't mean to snap at you," Jackson mumbles. Derek looks up, surprised. Jackson is actually hanging his head, looking slightly abashed. "It just... it all feels so useless. Like I'm trying so hard and getting nowhere." Before Derek can reply, Jackson gets to his feet. "I should go,"

Derek stands as well, and Jackson gathers his things. They head to the door together. "Thanks... for listening to me whine," Jackson says.

"You're welcome, Jackson," Derek says. He puts his hand on Jackson's shoulder. "And it _will _get better. I promise." He says. Jackson gives him a wry half-smile.

Barely processing what he's doing, Derek leans in and kisses him. Jackson makes a small surprised gasp as their lips connect, and Derek pushes his tongue in between Jackson's parting lips. His hand moves up to grip Jackson's neck and he moves closer, pressing his body up against him and deepening the kiss.

He knows what he's doing now, is fully aware that he's kissing Jackson. Whiny, needy, seventeen year old Jackson. And Jackson is kissing him back, just as eagerly.

Now that he's started he can't make himself stop. It tastes too good, feels too good to have Jackson's body pressed against his, his hands gripping his shirt, mouth moving fast against his own, wide open and begging for more.

Derek's lip snags on something sharp and he tastes copper and realizes Jackson's begun to shift. With difficulty he makes himself slow down. "Jackson," He gasps, feeling claws dig into his sides. "Get a grip,"

Jackson shows no signs of stopping, and Derek shoves him back. Jackson looks hurt for a moment, and then grins at him, flashing his fangs, suddenly all full of his old cockiness. "What's the matter, alpha's afraid of a little blood?" He moves in for another kiss, but Derek puts up his hand, stopping him even though it's the last thing he wants to do.

"You can't let yourself lose control like that," He says. He looks away, shame catching up with him. He shouldn't be doing this, Jackson is too young. "This was a mistake,"

Derek turns away, but Jackson darts in front of him. He really is very fast. "Everyone makes mistakes," He says, his eyes shining with a light Derek has never seen. "What if I don't want to stop making this one?"

There's a million arguments Derek could make. He could apologize, he could walk away. He could do anything but what he does, which is grab Jackson and shove him back against the wall. He looks him over a moment, taking in the eager look in his eyes and the way he licks his lips, and then he shoves his mouth against him, hard and messy.

Derek pulls back an inch, breathing heavy, and whispers against Jackson's mouth. "Shift back, Jackson. Get control of yourself,"

"You're... you're not serious?" Jackson gasps, as Derek kisses along his neck. His hand drifts between Jackson's legs, fingers playing at the zipper of his jeans. "How do you expect me to control myself when you're..."

Jackson trails off, moaning as Derek pulls aside a strap of his dirty wife beater and sucks a dark bruise against his collarbone. "Consider it a test,"

Button and zipper undone, Derek slips his hand down inside Jackson's pants. He kisses him, lightly, as he begins to jerk him off. Jackson groans, eyes squeezed shut and head thrust back against the wall. His mouth opens and Derek sees fangs. Derek presses his mouth to Jackson's ear and whispers "Come on, Jackson, you can do this. Concentrate,"

Derek increases the pressure of his grip but slows, and Jackson whines and opens his eyes. "What do I get, if I pass your _test?_"

Derek licks his lips. "What do you want?"

"_You,_" Jackson says. "Again. Soon."

Derek nods. "Okay,"

Jackson closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He screws up his face, pressing his lips together tightly. "I can't do it," He mutters. "I can't shift back... not like this..."

Derek considers stopping, considers letting him get a grip on himself before starting again. Instead he brushes his lips over Jackson's ear, and begins to pump his hand again, gently up and down until Jackson is moaning and writhing against the wall.

"Pick something to focus on," Derek tells him in a low voice. "Anything you can think of that will help you stay human. Pick an anchor, concentrate on that and only that,"

"Shut up," Jackson snaps. He grabs Derek by the front of his shirt, claws snagging the fabric. He pulls him in and gives him a harsh kiss, gasping into his mouth. As he kisses him, Derek can feel Jackson's claws retract and his tongue finds Jackson's mouth absent of fangs. Derek kisses him harder, hard enough to leave his mouth coloured red.

Jackson's hips buck forward and Derek feels a warmth spread over his hand. "Uuhh..."

He wipes his hand off on his jeans. Jackson's chest is moving up and down as he tries to slow his breathing, and his eyelids droop slightly. Derek leans in and presses a soft kiss to Jackson's lips. Jackson smiles against him, kissing back lazily. "Did I pass?" He mumbles.

Honestly, Derek would have to say _no. _He'd stayed shifted for 90% of the encounter, that can hardly count as a pass. And without Derek's coaching, he wouldn't have even managed the 10% that he had.

Derek runs his fingers over Jackson's cheekbones, and kisses him again. "Yeah," He says. "You passed."

* * *

Derek still considers screwing around with Jackson a mistake. But it's one than neither he and Jackson can't seem to stop themselves from making, over and over and over again...

Derek discovers that the way Jackson fucks is strangely similar to the way he fights; fast, dirty, and most times not very well. But as with his fighting, he's also very eager to learn how to improve. Derek has a much easier time getting him to listen when they're in bed than he does when they're training.

Jackson's main problem is, unsurprisingly, control. It's a problem in the sense that he wants it more than anything, and possesses absolutely none of it. Each time he insists he's gotten the hang of it, that he'll be able to kiss Derek without tearing off his jaw with his fangs, that he'll be able to touch him without leaving angry red scratches. And each time, he is inevitably wrong. Derek's come away from brutal fights looking better than he does after fucking Jackson.

"I'm really fucking sorry, Derek," Jackson says, for the 90th time. He's naked, kneeling next to Derek on the bed, watching as some particularity nasty wounds heal on his chest.

Derek sighs and rolls his eyes. "I said it's fine, Jackson. I'm already healing."

"You're sure I can't do something to help?" Jackson inches closer, always so eager.

"_No," _

Jackson frowns. He thinks for a moment. "Maybe... maybe you chain me up. Cuff my hands against my back or something,"

"What?" Derek stares at Jackson like he's lost his mind. "No,"

"Why not? It's not like you don't _have _chains. I've seen them, you've used them on me before. What's the difference?"

"That was on the full moon, Jackson! It's for your own safety and the safety of others that you're chained up on the full moon. Not for kinky sex,"

A grin spreads across Jackson's face. "It would be pretty kinky, huh?" He says. Derek can tell he's warming to the idea. Jackson leans in and begins to kiss his ear, biting gently on the lobe. "You're considering it, admit it,"

Derek grumbles some response, too busy enjoying what Jackson's doing to his ear to bother with giving an actual answer. The truth is he _is _considering it. He can see it in his head, various images of Jackson tied up with chains, begging Derek to fuck him, struggling against his restraints... and he likes it. But he wishes he didn't.

Derek turns towards Jackson and captures his lips against his own. Hesitantly, Jackson places his hands against Derek's face, holding him carefully as they kiss. "Derek..." Jackson mumbles. "I don't want to hurt you..."

"Yeah, me neither,"

Jackson's lips against his feel so good, Derek hates that it can't always be like this. That if they go any farther, Jackson will lose control and soft kisses will give way to bloody lips and torn skin. Chains aren't the answer, as appealing as they may seem. The answer is what Jackson so desperately lacks: he needs to learn to control himself. It's the only solution Derek will consider.

He feels Jackson begin to pull back, and he fights against the urge to pull him in for more. Jackson is the one who needs to gain control, Derek can't be the one controlling him. "Jackson, don't stop," Derek mumbles.

Jackson hesitates. "I don't want to stop," He whispers. "But... I mean, you're still healing,"

"Then focus,"

Jackson groans, and drops his head. "We've been over this, it's _useless,_" He mutters. "I can't find an anchor, nothing works!"

Derek places two fingers under Jackson's chin, lifting his face up so he looks Derek in the eye. "You'll find your anchor, Jackson. Everyone does. What's the first thing that comes to mind when you think of your humanity?"

"I guess... control," Jackson says. "I mean, it's what I lost..."

"Then let that desire for control be what grounds you. If you don't let it, nothing else can control you, Jackson. You're in control. Focus on that,"

"But I'm _not _in control—"

Derek kisses him, cutting Jackson off. "Yes, you are,"

Jackson kisses him back, hard. "So frustrating," He mutters, wrapping his arms over Derek's neck. Derek refrains from repeating his last sentence. He lies Jackson down on the bed, and kisses his neck, eliciting whimpers and moans. When he comes back up, he finds Jackson struggling, fangs threatening to emerge.

Derek kisses him cautiously. Jackson's fangs retract, and Derek smiles. He kisses a line down Jackson's chest, and feels Jackson push his fingers into his hair. No claws yet; a good sign.

Jackson is hard before Derek even puts his mouth on him. As Derek's never been one to waste time with teasing, he takes as much of Jackson as he can into his mouth and pushes his tongue against the head of his cock as he begins to bob up and down.

Jackson's moans pitch, and he thrusts his hips forward. Derek grabs them to keep Jackson steady, keeping them down with one hand as his other moves along with his mouth. Part of him wants to draw it out, to keep Jackson begging and moaning for as long as he can. But the more rational side of him knows to finish Jackson quickly. The faster Jackson comes, the less time he has to lose control.

Already, Derek can feel claws against his scalp, and above him Jackson's stuttering has turned fearful. "D-Derek—I c-c-cant hold it, god, Derek—"

_Come on, Jackson, you can do this, _Derek thinks. He says nothing, but slows the movement of his mouth. He wants Jackson to get through this without coaching, without encouragement.

After a series of deep breaths, Derek feels the claws ease on his skull. He can tell Jackson is still struggling, still fighting for control. But for now, he has it.

Derek pulls away, and move up to kiss Jackson's mouth, pleased to find it free of fangs. Jackson is panting, gasping breathlessly as he struggles to hold on. Derek hand continues to move along Jackson's dick, jerking him off slowly.

Jackson's eyes turn bright blue, and he cries out, holding on to Derek with back-breaking force. He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them again, the blue fades. A relieved, tired smile appears on Jackson's face, and then he bits his lip, holding back a scream as he comes, wet and sticky in Derek's hand.

Derek smiles, and cleans them both off with the tissues he keeps beside the bed. He pulls Jackson into his arm, stroking his sweaty hair. "That was good, Jackson," He mummers. Jackson is still panting, breathing hard in Derek's arms. Derek kisses his forehead. "Really good,"

"I didn't hurt you?" Jackson asks, looking up at Derek with wide eyes. Derek shakes his head. The relief in Jackson's eyes is obvious. He wonders if he's being selfish, making Jackson learn to control himself this way.

Derek strokes the side of Jackson's face, and kisses him softly. They'll talk about it later, he decides. Jackson can chose whether he wants to continue this, whether it's too much for him or not. Somehow Derek has a feeling that he knows what Jackson's answer will be, but he won't hold it against him if he's wrong.

For now, Derek takes comfort in the dozing figure in his arms, this frustrating, annoying person that drives him up the wall. He takes comfort in the way he smells, and the soft sounds of his breath as he drifts off to sleep. And he may not know if this is what's best for Jackson, of if it's what Jackson needs... but he thinks that for him, it might just be the answer he's been looking for all his life.

**End.**


End file.
